


It's the small things

by hypatheticallyspeaking



Series: Watching the Parisian Skies [2]
Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Older AU, roommates au, these dorks still don't know each other's identity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-30
Updated: 2015-11-30
Packaged: 2018-05-04 03:16:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5318390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hypatheticallyspeaking/pseuds/hypatheticallyspeaking
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Adrien really doesn't like galas. At least Marinette is there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's the small things

Adrien hates the company events. Especially the ones his father deems mandatory.

Galas are supposed to be entertaining, a means for networking and meeting other people. But to him, it feels more like hours of being gawked at, like _he’s_ the one on display, not the jewelry or new fashion lines. His tuxedo feels uncomfortable—he’d much rather be lounging at home in jeans and a t-shirt—and he tugs at the neck when he sees no one watching.

It seems that his father _always_ insists on holding the galas at their family home, a place where he hasn’t actually felt at home since he was a teenager. The manor feels less like a fairytale castle, as Marinette describes it, and more like the home of an apathetic ruler. It’s really a shame that he’s never seen eye-to-eye with his father, or else he’d still be living there. Although, he really prefers living with Marinette—who wouldn’t prefer living with a brilliant woman over staying at home? But he doesn’t spend much time musing about it, instead grabbing a drink from one of the caterers with a gracious smile.

His green eyes scan the room for his roommate, but he can’t pick her out among the mass of people. It seems like every single woman attending the gala chose to wear red, just like her—he remembers, and vainly tries to forget, her asking for his opinion on the dress a few weeks prior. He twists the silver ring on his finger as he weaves through the crowd. A few women he’s met on rare occasions stop him in his search, insisting that they share small talk. It’s not painful, but he can’t exactly say no, _especially_ when he can feel his father watching. Seriously, his alter-ego’s bad luck is not helping him whatsoever.

It’s her laugh that leads him to Marinette. She’s busy conversing with Nathanael, a small giggle escaping her lips as her shoulders shake with more laughter. He’s about to turn away, to avoid bothering them, when the redheaded artist gestures for him to join their ongoing discussion. Nathanael’s now a popular artist, both online and among the rich people Adrien knows. It’s bizarre, how they’ve known each other since they were all fourteen and that they still manage to cross paths.

Marinette’s staring at him with confusion on her face, and Adrien inclines his head in a somewhat Chat-like manner. “Is something wrong?”

“Nat, please tell me I’m not going crazy—his tie’s not right.” She’s stepped between the two of them, glaring at the light green item in question.

The redhead lets out a small laugh. “Mari, you’re the _only_ person who would have a problem with that.”

She’s wearing high heels, so she’s nearly on eye-level with him, and she reaches for his neck to readjust the tie. It takes her a couple seconds, and he does his best not to let his face flush. When he glances down, it looks like nothing’s different.

As if the confusion on his face was means for a response, Nathanael points out that the tie was off-center in his collar by an _extremely_ small amount.

“It was noticeable!” Marinette defends resolutely, folding her arms over her chest. There’s mirth in her blue eyes though, and a slightly more pinkish tinge to her pale skin.

He’s about to quip something back in response, but there’s the sound of someone starting an announcement, and his father’s the one at the main podium, discussing the recent company gains. Instead, Adrien gestures for them to start moving towards the tables and they take a seat.

There are glasses of champagne on the table, bubbling and reflecting the light from the moon in the skylight. Adrien shoots a quick smile at Marinette, although it turns out to be more of a smirk, an action much more Chat-like than he intends. The dark-haired woman rolls her eyes before fixating her attention on the famous designer at the podium.

His father’s voice appears to enthrall the entire audience, save himself. He supposes that it’s the result of years of attempting to hear positive words from the same man. Adrien wants nothing more than to let a groan escape his lips and lay his head against the high-quality cloth, but he’s been raised better. He may have never gotten along with his father, but he’s not cruel enough to tarnish the family’s reputation for a single gala.

To his surprise, Marinette glides a hand across the table to rest atop his. Her eyes are dutifully focused forward, but there’s a crease of concern in her brow, and her lips are pressed together like whenever she’s worried. She gently squeezes his hand, and he returns the action. His father’s speech ends with a flamboyant gesture, and he surreptitiously slips his hand from hers.

It feels like an eternity, but eventually the guests begin to file out in small groups. Nathanael leaves with a kiss on Marinette’s cheek and a nod at Adrien, even though the model doesn’t understand why. Adrien moves his left hand to tug at his tie, but pauses a second before messing with Marinette’s adjustment. Following the crowd of people, he walks to the entrance of the Agreste Family’s manor. There’s a gust of air, and he stiffens even more than he typically would be in the improperly fitted tuxedo.

“C’mon,” Marinette whispers in his ear, fingertips glancing on his shoulder as she walks past him. “Time to head home.”

It’s not even eleven at night, but the Parisian streets are dark, illuminated by lamplights and half-open blinds. Marinette’s high heels clack against pavement, beating out a steady rhythm as they get closer and closer to their shared apartment. Her footsteps get slower, heavier, as they reach the apartment building’s elevator.

She slumps against him, slipping her arm into the crook of his and resting her head against his shoulder. Sometimes it amazes him how much she’s changed since they were teenagers—when she was unable to form a coherent sentence with him around. Now, they’re able to convey their thoughts with seemingly imperceptible actions, similar to when he’s Chat Noir and fighting akuma with Ladybug.

His eyelids feel heavy, and he leads the half-asleep Marinette to her room before leaving to change out of his less-than-comfortable tuxedo. The sound of the television turning on causes him to leave his room, duvet in hand. It appears that Marinette has decided the best way to fall asleep is to watch old movies, and Adrien can’t help the smile that crosses his face.

The couch is comfortable but cold, and he’s thankful that he’s able to drape the duvet across them. She leans into him, her shoulder pressing against his.

“Thank you for tonight,” Adrien murmurs as he feels sleep start to overtake him. He doesn’t even remember if Marinette responds, but when he wakes up, their hands are intertwined and her head is resting against his chest.

He brushes Marinette’s hair to the side with his free hand and he doesn’t even attempt to avoid the tender expression that appears on his face. He needs to get ready for a shoot soon, but he lets himself keep the moment suspended in time, just for a few more minutes.


End file.
